THE EVERLASTING HILLS.
After their escape from the dangerous region of the fortress on that
night of battle, Van Vuren and his band made towards the far-distant
country watered by the Hudson, travelling under the guidance of Pieter
von Donck across the unfrequented territory, over balsamic hills of
spruce, through swamps and thickets, and across a desert of dusty
stone, until they reached a range of green mountains which made an
immense backbone along the land. Here they halted, and the note of
argument was raised. Van Vuren had developed a sullen mood, induced by
jealousy of Von Donck, who had taken the office of leader upon himself,
and at this point he turned upon the sailor and a heated battle of
words ensued. The captain indicated the flat district spreading
westward, and confidently declared that the route lay there. His men
obediently turned to follow, with the exception of Von Donck, who, when
his argument failed, separated himself forthwith from the company.
"Take then your inland path," he shouted at them angrily. "You shall
in due time come among the savage Adirondacks, where the Mohawks dwell
unconquered, and where all manner of wild beasts fill the fastnesses.
No white man has preceded you there. This way I smell the sea. Keep
your course, captain, if you will not be ruled by me. I am for New
Amsterdam and the hostel beside San Nicolas."
"Pieter knows the land," urged Dutoit.
"Go then with the stubborn fool," replied Van Vuren hotly. "Follow me,
my men. This way for the sea!"
The rest of the company succumbed to discipline and followed their
leader, though with manifest unwillingness; while Von Donck gave them
over to their fate and travelled alone into the green hills.
What befell Van Vuren and his company history relateth not. It is
certain that they were never taken by the French, because the party
which Roussilac had sent out returned in due course to the fortress,
and reported that they had failed to discover any trace of the
traitors. But at a later date there went a story about Hudson's river,
concerning a party of Dutchmen said to be haunting the spurs of the
Adirondacks, weather-beaten men, wrinkled and long-bearded, their feet
covered with scraps of hide, their clothes eked out by furs,
continually setting out upon a journey, but always returning to their
starting-point. Still later, after New Amsterdam had been conquered by
the English and had received the name of New York, mothers would often
frighten their errant children with the tale of the lost Dutchmen who
wandered about the north, their beards dragging on the stones and
tangling among the bush, watching the sun by day and the stars by
night, and sometimes separating as though in anger, but only to combine
again and renew the hopeless search. Probably Van Vuren and his men
were destroyed by the fierce Mohawks; possibly they fell a prey to the
animals which roamed in their thousands among the Adirondacks, or
perished of want after their ammunition became exhausted; the one fact
is certain that not one of them ever reached the sea-blown country of
the Manhattoes.
While this fatal dissension took place Geoffrey was crossing the plains
upon the further side of the green mountains, only a short distance
ahead. He had made excellent progress, concealing himself cleverly
from bands of marauding Indians, guiding his feet by the constellations
at night, and searching by day for the tree-moss which delicately
furred the north side only of the hemlock boles; but there still
remained over two hundred miles of wild country between him and the
town of Boston. He tramped on, unheeding sore feet, feeling the spirit
of brave Madeleine at his side, averting the perils of night, guiding
his feet accurately southward. As time went on, and he reflected how
great was the distance he had already traversed, the joy of life became
so strong that he could have flung away his sword and dared the world
with bare hands.
Two weeks had passed since that parting from his comrades; and on the
evening of the fourteenth day he broke from the bush and for some
moments stood bewildered at the scene before him, blinking his eyes,
and longing to step back into the greenwood shade.
White masses of mountain glowed ahead, peaks and crags all glittering
in the sun like a huge cascade streaming down from the clouds; ranges
of pure crystal, polished like glass, and edged with rose-pink by the
colours of the western sky; snow-white gorges of milky quartz, and
silver cataracts flung in foam from the whiteness above to the green
below.
"These," he said softly, with a thrill of old-world superstition,
"these must surely be the great crystal mountains where the Iroquois
believe that the gods dwell."
He hurried on, his eyes watering because of the dazzling light
reflected from those crystal walls; and as he went he turned to lover's
thoughts, and determined that, after all, the sun glow upon the white
peaks was not one-half so lovely as the flush upon Madeleine's soft
cheek. Here before him was Nature's finest insentient handiwork. It
was glowing and full of music, but its loveliness lacked life, and its
warmth was borrowed from the sun. It was only beautiful as a part of
the environment of the life of the soul. How he longed for Madeleine
to stand at his side and behold those everlasting hills in splendour
and the sun swimming in red! And with that longing he half
unconsciously breathed the healthful text to which she had attuned her
happy soul, "It is life--glorious, everlasting life!"
Vitality rose to its full height within Geoffrey's body; and when he
felt no more the weight of his heavy kit, he ran over the broken ground
and up the narrow gorge, until two white walls closed him gently into
the panting bosom of the crystal hills.
"Here is the home of fairies," he exclaimed, when he stopped at a great
height, and looked upon three tiny lakes which made a trinity of
motionless mirrors decked by feathers of cloud, the water like white
wine brimming in great bowls of granite.
Immediately a gentle voice was wafted through the air, "Here is the
home of fairies," and after a pause the information was repeated like
the warble of a weary bird, the last notes dying inaudible around the
cliffs.
Geoffrey dared not speak again. The genius of the place was over him,
waiting to give a signal to the expectant choir. Footfalls preceded
the traveller, the echo of his own. The many-mouthed King of the
Mountains pattered before him, breathing the stranger a gentle welcome
to the district which he ruled. Geoffrey crept on tiptoe to the edge
of the nearest pool, until he could see the weedless rock-bottom and
the land-locked salmon lying near the surface, gently fanning their red
fins, and watching him with wondering eyes. Seating himself, the
traveller bathed his weary feet and watched the water swallows, darting
and splashing, snatching the fat flies which spotted the surface like
drops of rain, sucking them in and pushing out their little black noses
for more.
The sun went down and a chill crept into the wind. Geoffrey left the
enchanted spot, and the salmon shooting like silver arrows through the
darkening pool, and, again ascending, entered a richly-wooded glen
through which a cascade ran in a white thread; and here, close to a
winding path beaten out by the feet of mountain sheep, he pitched his
camp and ate his frugal meal of dried meat, which he eked out by a few
early berries and some sweet roots of the wood althaea.
The light went out from the long day as he sank into dreams of
Madeleine. He pictured her swaying among the scented grasses of the
lowlands, or breathing a prayer for his welfare while she awaited the
evening star in the faint blue of the sky. He saw her leaning from the
hill-top watching the southern line, and bounding joyously away when
she found the sky all clear. He imagined her lying asleep with her
mind awake for him; and he believed that in his sleep her sweet dreams
would cause his lips to open and his tongue to call her name.
A rustling in the near bush recalled him to the present. He thought
the sound was occasioned by some restless bird, but when the
disturbance became more decided, he rose, alert, and, putting out a
hand for his bow, shrank back into a place of shelter. Hardly had he
done so when a thicket of willow shivered and parted.
The watcher saw two savage eyes aglow like lamps, and as he sank to the
ground and remained motionless as a figure of stone, a great panther
slouched into the open, with its nose upon the ground.
The creature passed, blowing up the dust as though following a fresh
scent. Geoffrey noticed with a thrill of relief that the ground it was
intent upon was not that which he had traversed. When the huge cat had
crawled into the bush, he drew out one of his few remaining arrows and
cautiously followed; but not more than twenty paces had he advanced
into the clinging bush when there came to him for the first time during
his wanderings the exclamation of a human voice.
Geoffrey plunged forward recklessly until he saw a circular opening
such as Nature delights to make in her laying out of the densest
forest. The cataract formed the left; a bank of trees rose to the
right; opposite him a big man sat in the half light, holding a
smouldering pipe, his eyes fixed in terror upon the panther, which lay
upon its belly half a dozen yards away, growling and lashing its tail
in its savage cat's joy. The man was unarmed. He had left his pack
and weapons under a shelf of white rock which gleamed behind.
Viner edged nearer, but as he stirred a twig snapped and the panther
looked round, its eyes full of fire and blood. At the same moment the
stout man discovered his rescuer and a flush of colour returned to his
bloodless cheeks. Keeping his eyes upon the enemy, he began to crawl
towards the rock, shouting as he went: "Drive at him, boy. Send a
shaft through his neck, and Pieter von Donck shall stand your friend
for life."
The bolt, well-aimed by the boy's cool hands, sprang that instant into
the beast's shoulder. As it felt the sting of the barb, the panther
roared and leapt mightily into the bush, landing upon the exact spot
which Geoffrey had cleverly vacated in time to save his life. Again
Von Donck bellowed like a bull:
"Let him have one such another, comrade. Then into the bush and dodge
him. I have powder here and ball."
Geoffrey hurriedly slipped another arrow along the groove of his
cross-bow and secured the string. Quick as he was, the great cat was
quicker. It hurled itself upon the tree behind which its enemy had
taken shelter, and its iron claws wrenched off great flakes of bark.
Again Geoffrey saved himself by leaping back, but the panther was up at
the rebound and on him. For the third time Geoffrey dodged, and in
doing so released the string, and the bolt, by happy chance, pierced
the demon in the chest as it descended. The next instant Geoffrey was
felled to the moss. But this effort was the panther's last. An
explosion shook the bush, there came a villainous smell of saltpetre, a
whirl of smoke, and the mountain cat fell upon its side, quivered, and
lay dead.
"A brave invention this powder," snorted Von Donck triumphantly out of
the smoke. "But methinks too costly save for an emergency." He broke
off and muttered into his beard: "A thousand devils! The boy is
English."
"A strange meeting, friend," said Geoffrey, as he rose somewhat blindly
to his feet.
"Adventure makes many an alliance," quoth the Dutchman. "Were you
black, or brown, or yellow man, I would take your hand and swear to
stand your friend. You have saved my life, boy. Nay, deny it not, and
at the further risk of your own. By my soul, the brute has clawed your
shoulder. This must be seen to. Come, lie you here, while I bring
water and wash the wound and bind it up as best I can. A pestilence
destroy these same unholy animals. They strike a man like lightning."
"If I have saved your life, you have done as much for me," said
Geoffrey. "Let us divide the honours."
"A hand-shake upon that," cried the hearty Dutchman. "We are enemies
by blood, boy. You have fought against my people before this night,
and are like, I doubt not, to do so again. The Puritans of
Massachusetts have their eyes upon our New Netherlands. You and I may
yet meet upon opposite sides in the battle; but may God forge a
thunderbolt for my destruction if I do not seek to preserve the life of
one who has shed his blood for me. I suspect, boy, you are no true
Englishman. I dare swear your father or mother came of a good Dutch
stock."
"I am English born and bred," said Geoffrey. "I could wish you were
the same," he boldly added.
"Out, jester!" said the big man as he went down to the cataract. "It
is your envy speaking. Black never made itself whiter by longing."
The Dutchman returned with his hat half filled with water and attended
to the injuries of his new friend, with podgy hands which were but a
little less rough than the nature of the man who owned them. Every
protestation on the part of his patient he silenced by a growl. When
the slight flesh-wound had been bandaged, he replenished the fire to
keep other mountain cats at bay, and they sat together under the white
wall, Von Donck occupied in skinning the defunct panther, chatting
noisily the while.
"Do you wonder that I speak your language when I have been brought up
to a better?" he observed as the soft night grew upon them. "A soldier
of fortune must needs pick up all he can, grains and chaff alike. Many
years past, before that yellow hair of yours had grown to trouble a
maiden's heart--Ah, that blush was good. Shall repeat the phrase.
Before that yellow hair had grown to win a Dutchman's heart--see how I
spare your blushes to hurt your pride--I served under Hendrick Hudson,
who called himself English, though plague me if I could ever tell what
was English in him save his oaths. I promise you he could ring an
English oath to drown the best of yours. To-morrow will tell you how I
sailed with him up the Mohican river which now bears his name. 'Tis a
happy day for you, young comrade. Your future wife and children shall
bless this day--when you and old Pieter met. Plague the lad! His face
is like a poppy in a corn-field. Shall stand together, young
yellow-head, till the end of this journey. I do not seek to learn your
business, but you shall know mine. I am going home, boy, back to San
Nicolas by the sea, and there shall grow a yet rounder belly, and tell
travellers' tales, and toss my neighbours' children upon my knee. We
shall part in New England, enemies if you will, but until we reach the
fields of the Puritans we stand together, and the Indians that burn you
shall burn me also."
"How come you to be travelling alone?" asked Geoffrey.
"When you reach my age, young whipster, you shall learn that questions
are like thistle-seed, tossed here and there, serving no better purpose
than the sowing of a fresh weed-crop. I ask no question, but I know
that you carry a despatch to your Puritans in the south. See how
shrewdly I have hit it. Until two days back I travelled with my
company, but when they chose the way which leads to destruction I left
them. They have gone to the devil, and I am for the sea. At this
present time I am for sleep. When the moon touches yonder ridge, wake
me and I will take my watch. This panther's family may be on the
prowl."
"'Tis a fine skin," said Geoffrey, indicating the striped coat which
Von Donck was stretching along the rock.
"Will look well upon my shoulders," said Pieter complacently. "'Tis
mine by hunter's right. Shall swagger about New Amsterdam in it and
shame the burgomaster. At nights will sit in the hostel and say how I
killed him with mine own hand. The folk shall not believe, but I shall
have the hunter's satisfaction of making a brave show. By San Nicolas,
the brute shall not die so easily when I come to tell the story."
The garrulous old sailor made a bed of grass and moss, and prepared to
sleep. Suddenly he broke into a deep laugh, and lifted his hand to
indicate a crystal ridge towards which the moon was drawing. "See you
how yonder granite is shaped into a man's face?" he said. "And, as I
live to sin, a likeness of mine own. See there my crooked nose and
flabby forehead and my hanging lips? Behold my beauty, boy, and bear
in mind that Pieter von Donck and yourself are the first travellers in
these crystal mountains. Ah, Pieter von Donck! Pieter von Donck!" he
continued in a shout, lifting himself upon his elbow, and shaking his
fist at the massive face of granite. "You sleep well yonder, Piet von
Donck. May you sleep as soundly for ten thousand years. Now, boy,
remember me in your prayers, but see that you put me not before your
sweet maid. God forbid that you should put an ancient rogue before
her. Forget not to shake me by the shoulder when the moon snuffs the
nose of yonder old man of the mountains."
He fell back and soon began to snore, while Geoffrey watched the stern
stone profile and the moon rolling serenely over the crystal heights;
and as he watched he drifted away into dreams.
These aerial castles toppled and fell when there came to his ears from
the adjoining valley a disturbance, which might have been occasioned by
mountain gnomes beating the rock with hammers of iron.